The hole swallows me whole. Consumes me, total.
I am only a hole. Insatiable. Unable to be filled. Unfathomable. Hollow.
In my space and time I seek. I told myself I was whole. I thought I loved myself. I lost myself in the hole. I walked down into it and then it was covered over.
Am I in a hole?
I feel pressure to be someone and no is even expecting that. I feel pressure placed on myself, coming from outside me; it’s a figment of my imagination.
I feel trapped inside but also I like it in here. I feel like I should get out but also it’s cozy in here. I feel like something is wrong with me but also I’m kind of fine right now.
I’m only not fine because I tell myself that something is wrong with me. I see other people doing things and I tell myself I can’t do those things. Or I won’t do those things. But I want to do those things. And I don’t want to do anything.
What is the day if there is nothing to show for it? What is the point of life if I never leave my cave? What is the point of anything if no one likes me?